


maybe this is danger, and you just don't know

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dual Genitalia Yondu, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ravager style violence, Slow-ish burn, Teasing, Unsafe Sex, dom!kraglin, kraglin's good at hiding behind his big blue eyes, new captain yondu, rookie kraglin, sub!yondu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: “Those numbers are off, there.”Yondu clamps down hard on the instinctive startle, sucks in a breath and turns to scowl up at the rookie.There’s something unnerving, about him. The way his eyes track Yondu, eyes sharp and almost unnaturally blank. There’s nothing of a rookie’s bug-eyed awe for the captain’s rank in his body when he turns to face Yondu, only a watchful looseness.In which new captain Yondu wonders why the new rookie keeps looking at him like he wants to eat him alive





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> have gawky dom Kraglin and a swaggering but slightly unsteady in his boots new captain Yondu. Second part is already in rough draft, so it should be up in the next couple days or so.

“Those numbers are off, there.”

Yondu clamps down hard on the instinctive startle, sucks in a breath and turns to scowl up at the rookie. 

There’s something unnerving, about him. The way his eyes track Yondu, eyes sharp and almost unnaturally blank. There’s nothing of a rookie’s bug-eyed awe for the captain’s rank in his body when he turns to face Yondu, only a watchful looseness. 

It shouldn’t bother him. The man is a collection of bones and blue eyes, the scruffiest excuse for a beard, baggy leathers, and limbs almost too long for the rest of him. Nothing about him screams threat, except how every bit of Yondu’s skin ripples electric and wary.

“The fuck you coming s’close for, rookie,” Yondu lets him lines in his implant glow, fingers the edge of his coat so his arrow’s on full display. 

“Kraglin.” 

“What you say?” Yondu leans back, draws his shoulders up. The rookie only looks at him, and is the corner of his mouth starting to curl up? What in the fucking stars has he got to grin about? 

“M’name,” the rookie says, “Kraglin.” 

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please,” Yondu hisses, grabs a handful of jumpsuit collar and twists hard enough to choke, “now back the fuck up, _rookie_.” 

Kraglin’s eyes flare hot, flaming blue like a gas fire and Yondu freezes, swallowing hard before he can stop himself. Then just like that, the fire dies and Kraglin’s grinning apologetically, holding his hands up and backing away. 

“Sorry, sir,” he waves a hand in the direction of the dash, “Didn’t mean no harm, just those numbers aren’t right, gonna be in the back end of nowhere if we’re charted t’that course.” 

Yondu squints down, works it again slowly. He’s right. Of course he is, because now while Yondu _could_ still put him on bog duty for disrespecting, he’s decided on a general policy he doesn’t do that to crew that are speaking up to fix mistakes. Tends to set a bad precedent and ends them up in skirmishes that could have been avoided. 

Plus, as far as Yondu can tell, no one else on the bridge has noticed their little kerfuffle. Means he isn’t forced to do something to show he’s a captain that won’t be fucked with – his crew’s still new enough, _he’s_ still new enough, that that sort of thing is a weekly occurrence. Comes with being a captain of just cresting on half a year.

He could still push the point a little more violently to this uppity rookie, but something he can’t lay a finger on holds him back. 

“Then fix ‘em,” Yondu points a warning finger and turns resolutely away, pretends he doesn’t feel the spidery tingle starting up and down the back of his neck. He’s hyperaware of the little shuffles of Kraglin’s feet as he backs up, the clicking of the dash buttons as he inputs the new coordinates.

If they weren’t a few hundred clicks from the nearest port, Yondu would find an excuse to ‘accidently’ boot him out. As is the rookie has just been expediently bumped to the top of the list for blaster-fodder type missions. Surely that’ll take care of him before he becomes the kind of problem Yondu has to deal with in a more hands-on type manner.

 

It’s like Yondu can’t stop noticing him after that. Not that it's such a feat on a crew as small as his – he’s only got maybe eighty of the few hundred he hopes to maintain until they can add on to the _Eclector._ They're the newest faction in the Ravager fleet after all, and it takes time to build up a reputation and crew that can match it. 

Still. 

It’s almost unnerving, how he always seem to be where Yondu is. And the fix with the numbers wasn’t an anomaly – he’s sharp, even if he seems to generally hide it behind a dopey grin and wide blue eyes. Tullk’s got him leading the nav crew now – not that it’s saying much, considering the general intelligence of the current lot. Soon as Yondu builds up his reputation enough to attract a higher quality crew, all the barely useful bodies are getting summarily demoted. 

And hopefully with new crew, comes a good candidate for first mate. When Stakar had pinned the captain’s flame on his chest, ceremoniously handed him the codes to the Eclector and sent him out to the stars, Tullk had quietly followed. When Yondu’s offered though, he’d politely but firmly turned him down _._

Which would’t have been a problem, except there wasn’t a single fucker in this whole damn batch, that looked ready to do the job instead.

 

It’s early in the new cycle, and Yondu’s sprawled over his bench eating some grey mush of a breakfast chow. It’s quiet – too early for the day crew and too late for the night – which is just how Yondu likes it. Nothing worse than trying to eat in peace and have some whinging streak of piss trying to bother him with inconsequentials. 

This morning though, Yondu’s only halfway through mechanically shoveling down his mush when in walks that bastard of a upstart rookie. Yondu watches him narrow-eyed as he grabs his own bowl, and instead of sitting in one at one of the many other half-rusted steel tables, Kraglin plops himself down at Yondu’s. Not just at the same table – the same side, only a length away. 

He’s humming some stupid tuneless melody, bobbing his head a little to the silent beat as he starts to eat his food. Yondu waits a minute, then looks resolutely down at his bowl, keeps spooning up mash quick enough it mostly bypasses his tastebuds. 

There’s the soft scrape of leather on metal, and when Yondu jerks his head up Kraglin’s a few inches closer, still humming innocently. Yondu isn’t fooled. 

“Listen here,” he slams his hand sharply against the table, twists to face Kraglin. “You got a thing, boy, ‘bout getting all up in my personal space? 

“Captain?” Kraglin’s eyes are wide, his eyebrows all wrinkled up in baffled bemusement but Yondu doesn’t trust it for a minute. 

“Don’t try and put up a front, rookie,” Yondu leans in, jabs a finger in Kraglin’s face. “Seems like you’re asking t’get it, pushing up on me like that again.” 

And suddenly Kraglin’s grinning sharp, says low and drawling, “Might be.” 

Yondu wants to punch that face, the challenge teasing in it, but instead he purses his lip, fingers his arrow and flips it into the air next to his head, leaking dull red light. It has the opposite effect Yondu had thought though, because Kraglin just tilts his head, watches it with something like greed in his eyes and lets his grin curl wider. It’s disconcerting, and Yondu doesn’t like it, he _doesn’t._

Then Kraglin ignores the arrow, leans in until their faces are only a few inches apart and husks out “Look awful good, swaggering ‘round the bridge, whistling that arrow through anyone that challenge’s you, and looking like nothing c’n touch you.” 

His breath is almost against Yondu’s lip now, as he adds lower,“Makes me want to,” and it shoots up Yondu’s spine, sending his head spinning dizzy and hot. Before he can stop himself he’s leaning in like Kraglin’s got a leash pulled tight around his neck. 

But then Kraglin sitting back, pushing to his feet and with a last considering tilt of his head, nods at Yondu. 

“Cap’n,” he says soft and almost… possessive, and then he’s turning, striding out the door like he hasn’t just taken Yondu between his hands and shaken him like a sugarsap cocktail. 

Yondu grabs his arrow woodenly, tucks it back in its sheath. Insolent fucker clearly has a death wish, it’s the only explanation. Next shift he’s gonna show that blue-eyed bastard better, give him a painful lesson on why it’s not okay to go taking liberties – no matter about how it makes something go weaving all trembling and giddy around Yondu’s ribs. Yondu’s the captain of this ship, and Kraglin better not forget it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing, boy,” Yondu hisses at Kraglin, legs planted wide and hand wrapped tight around his arrow. They’re in some axillary engineering room, complete with billowing rolls of steam and clinking pipes – one in which Kraglin’s not been scheduled to work. Yondu’s finally got him cornered, the slippery bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this grew legs and now has a third chapter. oops? also could probably use much more edit but I'm on a roadtrip yay! so it is what it is.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing, _boy,”_ Yondu hisses at Kraglin, legs planted wide and hand wrapped tight around his arrow. They’re in some axillary engineering room, complete with billowing rolls of steam and clinking pipes – one in which Kraglin’s _not_ been scheduled to work. Yondu’s finally got him cornered, the slippery bastard. 

Since that day in the chow hall, Kraglin had kept his distance. He’d better well act like another toe out of line will get him a vindictive hole through the chest, and a ignominious send off out the airlock. Means the rookie’s smarter than Yondu thought, is all, knowing he was dancing with the wrong devil. Just because Yondu’s pretty as an angel doesn’t mean he is one, after all. 

But Kraglin’s finally slipped up, and it’s time he finally got what’s coming to him.

Kraglin blinks, those ridiculous blue eyes of his going all wide as he says mildly, “Cap’n?” Like he’s completely baffled as to what Yondu is talking about, the bastard. 

“Ain’t fooling me with that baby face of yours, I know you’ve been knocking off crew what’s crossed you.”

Yondu doesn’t bother to hide his smirk as Kraglin’s chin dips minutely, eyes darting guiltily to the side.

Because it hasn’t slipped Yondu’s notice, how the small handful of crew he’d been keeping an watchful eye on – troublemakers, dangerously incompetent and the like – have one by one been disappearing.

It’s enough to make someone suspicious, and Yondu isn’t just someone. No one’s talking, some even seeming oddly defensive in their protestations that the missing crew have deserted of their own accord. It’s odd – not that no one’s particularly concerned with the erstwhile crew, but that there doesn’t seem to be any explanation.

Only thing Yondu’s been able to find out that they seem to have in common, besides being on Yondu’s shortlist, is they’ve all had confrontations with a certain upstart rookie. Seems Kraglin’s become some sort of unofficial arbitrator amongst the crew, unasked for and un-appointed. 

There’s no way in hell Yondu’s letting this one go unchallenged. He’s captain, this is his ship, and no one’s allowed to start pruning it without his say-so.

“There some kind of problem, you bring it up the chain proper, hear?” Yondu shoves a little harder, pushing Kraglin into the wall and grabbing handfuls of his jumpsuit. As Kraglin’s back hits metal with a clap, something hot rises up, washing predatory and sharp onto Kraglin’s face. It’s disconcerting, and Yondu spits out, “Everyone here is _my_ crew, and you answer to me and _my_ orders–”

Kraglin’s hand darts up like a spider strike to rest on the back of Yondu’s neck, squeezes hard and– 

_Oh._

Yondu’s lips part as he sucks in a shaky breath, eyes locking to Kraglin like a pair of magnetic couplings. 

“Shhhhhh,” Kraglin’s voice has dropped again, low and unyielding as the flint in his eyes. “Let go.”

And Yondu hands slowly fall open, releasing his handfuls of leather without his permission as he stares at them in betrayal. That voice, that hand on his nape… he needs to move away, needs to whistle, needs to do something right now, but somehow he can’t make his body obey him.

“That’s it,” Kraglin soothes, thumbing rough at the sensitive skin just under Yondu’s ear, “That’s it, so good, sweetheart.”

It shoots through Yondu like a drug, a hypo of golddust straight to his veins. He clicks high and shaky in the back of throat before he can stop himself, then forces every muscle to lock down and jerks himself away.

“The fuck you say to me,” he hisses lifts his shoulders, “Get your _goddamn hand_ off ’n get the fuck outta my face before I run you through.” 

He finally makes numb lips purse, whistles hard enough to send his arrow jerking straight up into the air before it jolts forward to twizzle right between Kraglin’s eyes. 

“You best,” Yondu’s voice is hoarse so he clears his throat, “Best be thinking twice before you come into my sight again, boy.” 

Kraglin grins at him like he isn’t facing down death, says bright, “Yessir, Cap’n.” 

He side-steps neatly away from Yondu’s arrow, and he’s out the door before Yondu can say another word. 

It takes a minute, before Yondu can move. His arrow’s still humming in front of him, and he reaches up mechanically to pluck it out of the air. 

This problem’s officially out of hand. Time to solve it once and for all. 

  

“Got a mission, y’all,” Yondu spreads the hologram wide with his fingers, motions it up higher into the air. “Got some rich fucker on Nax, playing a little game of keep away with some equally rich buddy of his.”

The crew tense. Getting involved in some high-blood feud? Especially one planet side and on their enemies turf? Not good for longevity. Yondu’s picked this one specifically though, with one specific outcome in mind.

“You three,” he points to five unlucky crew that end up on the other end of his finger, “Are going to get him his shiny.” 

He swivels around until he can jab a finger in Kraglin’s direction, “and you’re leading ‘em.” 

He ignores the way those blue eyes are smoldering like stars being born, like they’re trying to warp him in close. 

“Y’all have two days, an’ you better be back or we’re leaving you behind.”

For a minute no one moves and then Yondu gives a warning whistle, short and sharp, grins when they all jump.

“So what’re you waiting for? Git.” 

 

That night there’s something crawling restless and burning under his skin, and he lies awake, trying to forget the weight of a hand on his neck. His hand toys at the seam of his sleep pants, dips inside. He should have hated it, the way that hand had gripped him.

The thermostat must be acting up again. It’s hot enough in here to steam the porthole glass. Yondu back is sweaty, the sheet underneath it damp and he flips onto his front, kicks his sleep pants off. 

Calling him sweetheart, like they were lovers or some shit. The sheer nerve of that rookie. His sheets is some kind of synthsilk, soft against his oversensitive skin and he shifts against them.

It’s been a while since they’ve been planet side in place with a good bothouse. Maybe he’s just pent up, needs to let some of that off before he can sleep. 

The metal drawer scrapes in protest as he pulls it open, fishes out a fat black vibe and a half-empty tube of slick. It doesn’t look as big as the bulge Yondu had felt, pushed up tight to Kraglin. Of fucking course, the a-hole was packing, with the size of the balls on him.

Yondu’s wrist hurts as he twists it behind him, pushes the tip inside and pushes up on his knees. Halfway in it brushes his sweet spot, and his toes flex hard. He bet Kraglin fucks like this, putting someone on their stomach and draping himself over their back. Bet he pushes their head down, pulls their hips up into his. Yondu’s knees spread wider, and his hand moves faster, fucking the vibe in hard and jabbing. 

It wasn’t right, Kraglin crooning to him like that, probably crooning the way he does when he’s fucking. He probably whispers filthy sweet nothings into flushed ears, saying things about how good they’re being, how good they look around his cock.

He forces the vibe in harder, faster, fucking himself raw. Wonder what it would be like, having something besides rubber inside him, someone warm and lanky and hard filling him up.

Yondu’s wrist cramps and his hand spasms around the vibe until he drops it, lets himself go limp. He’d been close, so close. He sobs out frustration into the bedding, bites a mouthful of linens. He rubs himself sulkily against the bed, but the moment's gone.

Fucking rookie. Somehow, Yondu knows this is all his fault.

 

“Sir, the _Ikaros_ is asking permission to dock?” 

Yondu jerks upright, whips around to stare narrow-eyed at the Ravager on the comm. 

“Say what now?” Yondu keeps his tone measured, but his mind’s racing. That ship, Kraglin’s ship, wasn’t supposed to come back. Certainly not a day ahead of schedule. 

He presses his lips together, breathes out slowly. 

“The _Ikaros_ , coming back from that job on Nax, they’re asking permission to dock.”

And what else can Yondu say? 

“Bring ‘em in,” Yondu pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll meet them in the hanger bay t’see if they got what they was sent for.”

 

Kraglin’s the first off the ship, almost stalking like one of those wild jungle cats, coming back with prey in its mouth. A paint-splatter spray of blood has dried on his chestplate, over the spidery tattoos crawling up his neck, smeared along his jawline. The other crew frame him unconsciously, the way they match their walk to his without even realizing they’re doing it. 

What the hell _happened_ out there? 

Yondu shifts, lets his feet settle wider, tilts his chin up. Kraglin stops in front of him, curls a scraped-knuckle fist and hits his chest once, twice. 

“Cap’n,” Kraglin’s voice is properly deferential, but the wild grin hiding beneath the fray of his lashes isn’t. 

“Report.”

It comes out rougher than Yondu wants and he swallows hard against a dry throat. 

“You get the reward?”

Kraglin offers a battered unit chip. It’s small and grey, nondescript in the way that would get in trampled underfoot without a downward glance if someone ever lost it. When Yondu swipes it through the reader though, he has to work to keep his expression only mildly intrigued. The amount on here… well, they won’t be hurting for money for a month of Sundays, with this kind of payout. 

“Take the next cycle off, all of you,” Yondu clutches the unit chip until it starts to cut into his hand, bares his teeth in a jovial grin. Guess his problem isn’t so solved after all.

  

Yondu can’t sleep again. Kraglin’s face, teeth bared in a bloody grin as he offered his hand is tattooed sharp and black on his mind. 

He lets the bridge watch go, telling her he had captain’s business to take care of, that he’d stand the watch. It’s nearly silent now. Only the hum of the navboards, the faint rumble of the engines vibrates through the air.

There’s a dying star streaked past the bridge window, the faint glimmers drifting and wailing in the sky. Yondu puts a hand on the glass. It almost looks close enough to touch. 

Then Yondu goes stiff as iron at the press of a wire-thin body against his, and a voice breathing hot on his ear says low and amused,“I know what you was trying to do there, sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know what you was trying to do there_
> 
> Yondu goes stiff as iron at the press of a wire-thin body against his. Hands slide sharp down the slopes of his shoulders, grabs his hands and weave them together.
> 
> Kraglin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needs an edit which it will get at some point when i stop being a jelly and have motivation <3 to SnowDude for the prod to stop procrastinating and write xxxx

_I know what you was trying to do there_

Yondu goes stiff as iron at the press of a wire-thin body against his. Hands slide sharp down the slopes of his shoulders, grabs his hands and weave them together. 

Kraglin. 

Yondu bucks back on instinct but he’s shoved up against the window, Kraglin’s body molding to his. 

“Vicious thing,” Kraglin’s voice is raspy, where it croons in his ear, “Sending me out on a job like that, making me prove myself t’you.” 

Wait, that wasn't what that had been about at all. Yondu would tell him so, in no uncertain terms as soon as he could get the lanky bastard off.

Yondu throws his head back but that slippery eel of man dodges, presses his hips into the window and _fuck_. Fuck, Yondu’s hard, and he gasps into the glass. He makes himself keep squirming but then Kraglin shoves a thigh between his legs, pushes up until Yondu’s hiked onto his toes.

“Did I prove myself, _cap’n_?” Kraglin’s voice is hot and panting on the sensitive point of Yondu’s ear, “Gonna let me have you now?”

Teeth tug gently at Yondu’s top piercing, let go and worry at the one below. Kraglin’s teeth are needle sharp against his skin, denting into tender skin but never breaking it. 

Yondu’s blood rushes out of his head, and he wobbles before locking his knees grimly. All his reasons for why this is a terrible idea are washing transparent and intangible against the need fogging his head, the warmth of the body behind, the hardness rubbing against him.

“Dunno what you’re on,” Yondu’s eyes squeeze shut hard enough to hurt as Kraglin starts nipping down his neck, moving his hips in juddering little rolls against Yondu’s ass. “Y’damn– _fuck.”_

Kraglin’s hand slips trembling under his hem, wraps around him and squeezes slow, root to tip. “Gorgeous,” he pants into Yondu’s throat, “Fuck, wanted you like this since the first time I saw you on the bridge, wanted t’push you up against this glass ’n take you in front of all your men.” 

Yondu’s breath catches in his throat as Kraglin mouths filth against his skin. All those crew, staring greedy and wanting him, not allowed to touch. He bites his lips, tries to stop the needy little noises escaping the back of his throat.

“Let ‘em watch you sobbing and squirming, knowing I’m the only one allowed to take you apart,” Kraglin’s other hand slides down his waist, rubbing and squeezing at Yondu’s chunk.  It’s good, so good, and everything’s starting to blur floating and warm. He lets his head drop forward, moans when Kraglin’s teeth fasten around his nape. 

“Gonna be your second, stand by your side an’ yessir and follow your orders,” Kraglin pushes clumsy at Yondu’s pants, trying to work them down his hips, “Then when we’re alone I’m going to take you, take you apart until you’re sobbing and begging and can’t breath for needing me.” 

His words snap against Yondu’s skin, and he stiffens. He’s never needed a damn motherfucking person, and he isn’t about to start–

Wait. 

Did Kraglin say his second? Kraglin’s not his second, hasn’t even been in the running. 

Something sick and sour balls static in Yondu’s stomach. This isn’t some upstart little perv trying to get into his pants. Kraglin’s angling to be first mate. This is all just a power play. Would’ve been the same no matter who was wearing the captain’s flame. 

Kraglin’s still working him slow and sweet, but like he’s gonna give the bastard any more satisfaction. 

Yondu throws his head back, ignores the ringing in his implant as this time it connects. Kraglin’s hands spring off him with a wounded yelp, and it gives Yondu enough room to twist. He throws a fist into Kraglin’s nose, reveling in sick satisfaction at the crunch it makes as it breaks.

“Nice try,” Yondu means to snarl it, but somehow it catches rough in his throat. “Dunno how climbing ranks work where you come from, but fuckin’ your way to the top ain’t gonna work with me.”

Kraglin’s hand drips blue and viscous where it’s clutched over his nose. All the smolder-hot intent is gone like Yondu’s dumped him in ice water, and he looks rather like a befuddled f’saki who’s had its orloni snatched right out from under it. 

“What, sir, didn’t–“ he garbles out, but Yondu jabs a finger at him in sharp warning, turns away and strides toward the door. 

Clearly he hasn’t been keeping his crew busy enough if they have time to try and play _politics._ Yondu smirks at the vicious rush of schadenfreude that goes through him. At least that’s easy to fix. It’s about time the ship got a thorough scrubbing, top to bottom. 

Just as clear though, is that he’s stretched his search out long enough. Just because Stakar has Martinex doesn’t mean every captain can wait for someone who fits that well to come along. If Tullk won’t step up as first mate, well, time for a promotion for the quartermaster.

 

Next day, Yondu saunters over to scraggly-faced Retch who’s boredly picking at his nose and says loud enough the whole bridge can hear him, “Y’haven’t fucked things up too badly as quartermaster.” 

Retch squints unhappily as the crew’s focus swings to him, and he scratches at the back of his head like he’s trying to dislodge a few blood-happy lice. Left over nervous tic, from when the man still had hair. 

“An’ I’m in need of a first mate,” Yondu claps him roughly on the shoulder, and bares a grin full of metal-sharp teeth. “Looks like you get the job.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yondu can see Kraglin’s eyes locked to him, every muscle in his skinny frame winched tight. 

Good. 

Time to make sure the beak-nosed bastard doesn’t get any ideas. Yondu sweeps his eyes around the bridge, lets the lines in his implant light up in subtle warning. 

“Better not have any trouble about this, now,” he presses right up against Retch’s side, leans a companionable arm on his broad shoulder and ignores how Kraglin’s eyes narrow into beady slits, “Might take it real personal.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wind mutters bitter cold complaints across his skin. Yondu flips the fur lined edge of his collar up, and scowls at the garishly cheerful string of slick neon bulbs. They blink back at him hatefully. If the crew wasn’t so damned partial to it he’d be happy to flip Contraxia the middle finger as they left tomorrow, leave it to rot forever in a pool of its own glitter-slime crusted ooze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaaaand here it is for reals! AO3 ate this chapter when I posted it last night, so apologies for the weirdness.

The wind mutters bitter cold complaints across his skin. Yondu flips the fur lined edge of his collar up, and scowls at the garishly cheerful string of slick neon bulbs. They blink back at him hatefully. If the crew wasn’t so damned partial to it he’d be happy to flip Contraxia the middle finger as they left tomorrow, leave it to rot forever in a pool of its own glitter-slime crusted ooze. 

It’s been too damn long though, from the last port call. The crew had been getting restless and they’d needed a good few days of liberty, the chance to blow off some steam. Give them to chance to bond with their new first mates too. Retch has been slinking along well enough as his second, but for some reason the lower ranks haven’t taken much of a shine to him. 

Oh, there hasn’t been any problems mutinous enough Yondu could solve with a judicious introduction of foreheads to Mister Pointy. Only rumblings, the normally well-greased cogs of ship life creaking and groaning and sticking where they shouldn’t. Lucky Yondu knows exactly what will fix this little hiccup. He watched Stakar after all, when Martinex had taken over as first. The chance to bond planet-side will smooth things over, get things ticking along again. He’s already picked out an easy job for them after this, give Retch a chance to take charge.  It’s foolproof. 

There’s snow tonight. it hits his scalp in needle-cold flakes, sending shivers rippling across his skin. Too damn cold for any reasonably constructed species. Yondu breathes out, breath clouding the air.

The rest of his Ravagers are inside, enjoying the bots and the brawling and the booze. When Yondu had left to get a breath of fresh air, Retch was already six fingers deep into a bottle of rotgut and Tullk had his arms wrapped around his two favorite bot-ladies as he warbled out a drunken serenade. 

Kraglin’s there too. Yondu had been prepared for some kind fight tonight, but Kraglin hasn’t so much as stared in his direction. He’d had a little cluster of crew around him, at the bartop. It’s funny, for a man who don’t seem much the outgoing type he’s always the center of a crowd. They’re playing some sort of game involving bright primary colored chips and several bottles of the kind of liquor that will eventually eat through its own bottle, but Yondu hadn’t bothered to look closer. 

He’s captain, after all. It’s all fine for the crew to see him joining in on liberty, having a celebratory drink or two – but no one wants him standing over them and trying to buddy up in their off time. 

His feet are going numb, even wrapped in leather and synthwool as they are. Yondu stamps his feet, shakes the powder dusting of snow off his coat. At least this was their last night on this sickly spilled cocktail of a planet. They’d stay long enough tomorrow to drag the all the essential humanoids aboard the transport ships, and anybody missing was getting left to rot until next time they swung round.

“Sir…”

Yondu’s shoulders stiffen. 

Kraglin. 

Damn that man, he moves silent as a fucking cat. Must have decided to take a fresh air break from the thick stink of huffer-smoke in the bar too. 

“Sir, I need…” Kraglin’s voice is low, and there’s the scraping of boots as he scuffles them in the snow. “I need to say something t’you.”

Yondu doesn’t move. “I ain’t stopping ya.” 

Kraglin shuffles closer, until Yondu can just see the tip of his beaky nose, the bedraggled shock of his mohawk.

“Been meaning to, but couldn’t figure out which way t’put it, so’s you would listen.” 

Kraglin huffs out a frustrated sounding sort of breath, lets his head drop forward.

“You was wrong, the other night,” he says, twists to look at Yondu. “It weren’t what you thought.” 

“ ‘M never wrong,” Yondu snaps automatically, hands clenching the ice cold wood of the table. “An you might wanna think twice before you come out here running your mouth an’ trying t’tell me what you was calling a spade was really an shovel.”

“I wasn’t…” Kraglin’s voice is low, strained and he plants one hand next to Yondu’s. Yondu glares at it. Boy better not be thinking of laying hands on him now, or he was gonna find himself with some pretty new holes through them. “Didn’t mean it like that. Wasn’t trying for nothing like that. If I getta place, I’m gonna earn it.” 

Yondu snorts.

“That’s why,” he swallows, fills his voice heavy with sarcasm, “you decided to get all close and personal-like, is it, t’ _earn_ it.” 

Kraglin makes a sound that’s practically a snarl. He leans it, Yondu can feel it, the heat of his skin even through his leathers. Damn abnormal, is what it is, running that hot. 

“No,” Kraglin roughs out, breath steaming against his ear, “’S cause I want you.”

Yondu’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Want to touch you,“ Kraglin keeps talking, every word breathed sharp against his skin . “Want to get my teeth in your skin, want to fuck you.”

A strangled sound catches in the back of Yondu’s throat, as Kraglin strokes the tips of his gun-calloused fingers gently along the side of Yondu’s hand. Something shivers hard up the length of his spine, and Yondu jerks away with a hiss.

“Right,” he blindly jabs a finger against Kraglin’s chest,““That sounds real pretty ’n all, but you ain’t gonna pull one over on me again, boy.”

Yondu’s heard enough, and he isn’t gonna stand here and let some blue-eyed baby-faced rookie make him feel like he’s some blushing Krylorian maiden. He’s one of the youngest captains of a Ravager faction, flying a ship splashed with the Colors of Ogord, terror of the seventh sector. 

He wants to break that beaky nose again, bloody him up and send him packing but the man’s good at what he does, the other Ravagers listen to him. Someday, sometime though, he’s gonna overstep in front of the crew and that’s when Yondu will finally make this whole goddamn thing go away.

For now, well, if he has to be at the this worn-out rag of a brothel on liberty, on a planet only frequented by spacers and the alone, at least he’s gonna take the opportunity to get a little something out of it.

 

Yondu stomps through the door, walks straight up to the nearest unaccompanied bot and says low, “You. Follow me.” 

Not giving her the chance to dawdle he grabs her wrists, turns on his heels and makes for the private rooms in the back. Behind him his crew whistles, jeering and cat-calling good-naturedly, but Yondu doesn’t look back. 

When the door slides shut behind him, he turns to glare at the bot. She looks at him blankly. 

“On the bed,” Yondu flips the light off, presses the button to darken the window until the room sinks into near black. The bot’s circuitry still glows faintly through the stretched yellow of her synthskin, but he needs this now and it’s not enough to put him off.

He traces a finger along the bot’s face, and she coos and reaches for him. Her lips are rubbery smooth, not a bit of artificial hair on her as he plucks irritably at the clasps on her skimpy clothes. 

She’s perfectly curvy, round and soft and shorter than him, the same as most every other bot he’s had. Once Yondu’s got her undressed he breaks the cursory kiss, tells her, “On your back, then.” 

She goes, her eyes blinking up at him doll-like and quiescent until Yondu turns his head and shuts his own. He fucks into her sulkily, arms braced on either side of her. 

This is how he’s always done it, somebody under him. The way Kraglin talks, it’s like he wants Yondu like this, on his back and spreading his legs for him. Kraglin would probably hold him open, teasing him until he’s soaked, watching him squirm and beg with eyes all dark and hot and greedy.

The bot makes encouraging little breathy noises at him.

“Stoppit,” Yondu snaps. “Don’t need all that.”

The bot does, but somehow that’s even worse. Yondu speeds up, fucking the bot in sharp little jutters until he finally comes with an unsatisfied grunt. He stares down at her fake ecstasy, as she contracts mechanically around him, and hates her a little for it. 

“Go on, git out,” Yondu pulls out abruptly, shuddering a little. He rolls on his back, stares up at the ceiling. The walls aren’t thick enough to keep the sounds of the revelry outside out, his crew carousing, the intermittent shattering of glass and the occasional yell. 

The sheets itch, and Yondu shifts, shifts again. The stupid vent is positioned right over his head, blowing chill across bare skin. Goddamn it, wasn’t there enough of that outside? 

He flips onto his stomach, pulls the threadbare blanket higher. Fuck every bit of this godforsaken planet, fuck this cold, and most of all, fuck lying dirty-mouthed callous-fingered rookies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab. Yondu’s team would provide the distraction, Retch’s would get the goods. It wasn’t a difficult terrain, it wasn’t a difficult job.  
> Retch still manages to fuck it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the idea of Yondu doing katas hasn't left my brain since I read it in Write_like_an_American's lovely fic, We Crash and Burn Together and I can attest to first hand that yes, they are a soothing thing to do when feeling stressed.

It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab. Yondu’s team would provide the distraction, Retch’s would get the goods. It wasn’t a difficult terrain, it wasn’t a difficult job.

Retch still manages to fuck it up. 

 

“Keep moving, a-holes,” Yondu’s voice is hoarse from screaming over the chaos. The Krymian guards may not be well-armed, but they’re well coordinated and have the advantage of knowing the environment. The half of his crew with projectile weapons are wildly and disconnectedly trying to provide cover, the rest ducking to avoid the guards’ sporadic firing. 

If they’d just do as Yondu says, they’d have a better chance. The rudimentary Krymian weapons mean the guards’ aim is shoddy at best. When his crew sit there like lunkheads though trying to use broken bits of stones as cover from the projectiles, their chances went from ‘middling’ to ‘maybe they’ll be enough left we can pick up the pieces.’ 

“Didja hear me, keep your damn asses moving,” Yondu’s voice all but gives out on the last word. Unfortunate for him, Centaurian voice boxes aren’t built for all this barking and carrying on. Another problem with selling your babies before they could talk – meant while the translator worked off his native tongue, for him that meant Kree. 

He coughs, thumps his chest, purses his lips just in time to whistle down the a-hole about to fire on him. The M-ships on stand-by as their escape route should be here now, why weren’t they here yet? Yondu squints through the chaos, trying to find his first mate. Where the hell is he? 

“Cap’n, where are the damn ships?” 

Yondu turns. Oh. No wonder he hadn’t seen Retch, with him practically on his back with a slab pulled as far over him as cover as could get it. He should be at Yondu's back, guarding it, or very least leading the other crew. 

“I dunno, what did they say when you called them?” Yondu asks irritably. That had been the plan, when bridge crew had gathered to map out the job. First mate was always the one to communicate with back ship-side, in case the captain was needed more urgently taking command on the ground. Retch blinks at him stupidly, and Yondu clenches his fists, goes nearly lightheaded with anger. 

“You didn’t call them, did you.”

Retch stammers something incoherent, but Yondu doesn’t listen. He stagger the few steps to get within arms length of Retch, then punches him square in the face and watches as he crumples to the ground. Won’t matter, losing a hand in combat, if the ships weren’t even on their way yet and the hand in combat couldn’t do nothing but hide anyway. Except… there’s a steady hum, just above and growing louder. Yondu watches bemusedly as all four of the transport ships slowly descend, buzz into view as their hatches drop open as soon as landing gear touches the ground. 

There’s a loud whoop from the Ravagers that remain, and then a mad stampede to pile haphazardly into the ships. Yondu hooks his arms under Retch’s arms, drags him over rubble and up the gangplank as the projectiles ping uselessly off the hulls. 

 

Yondu stalks through the hanger bay, keeping count in his head. Four bodies, draped and laid against the far wall. They’re waiting preparation until the breathing have been attended to, and one of the senior crew can show the rest how it’s done. 

It’ll be the first real Burning the Eclector has seen. The others that’s died hadn’t warranted a Ravager send off but these deserve the Rites. Except… Yondu walks the perimeter again, checks his count. 

There’s thirty of them that went out, and only twenty eight came back. 

Yondu’s jaw locks, and he flexes his fingers. Two, left to rot on that stars forsaken mudhole. By now, the Krymians have most likely already done whatever they do to enemy dead. Isn’t any point making a suicide mission for the bodies. 

It’s far from the first time he’s come back from a job, fewer walking beside him than went out. But these… these are _his_ crew. His responsibility. 

His failure. 

It only takes the doc and his medic twenty minutes to triage their way through the _Eclector’s_ hanger bay of casualties. Yondu’s best hire so far, really, those two. They’ve got a stretcher now hauling back the one crew, Horuz If Yondu remembers correct, that hadn’t been patched back together enough to walk.

“Listen here,” Yondu whistles short and sharp, waits till all eyes snap to him. “Y’did good. Earned yourselves the next two shifts off, an’ I’ll tell cook to crack open a bottle of the good stuff in the mess tonight. 

The motley heap of exhausted Ravagers whoop. They aren’t some hoity Nova ship that makes the crew swear off booze while underway, but the cheap grog normally in the mess is barely a step up from water. 

Yondu waits until the crowd starts to disperse to stalk down the aisles towards the slumped form of his first mate. Retch cringes as he approaches, face screwing up in sulky defiance. It does nothing to quell Yondu’s temper, still sparking in his blood with the adrenaline. 

Worse than useless, a first mate that couldn’t even manage to do what was asked of him. Much less having Yondu’s back for all the things he didn’t.

Yondu grabs the edges of Retch’s collar, pulls him close enough he can see every bead of sweat dotting his brow.

“You’re damn lucky someone called those ships,” Yondu spits in his cowering face. “Or those guards would be making pretty new wall decorations with our corpses.”

His implant throbs, hot and glowing in his scalp. It washes Retch’s face a sickly red that doesn’t do his already crusty mien any favors.

Retch blubbers out excuses, weak protestation pushing blame on anyone that pops into his head about why the fault isn’t on him. It’s worse than if he’d just ponied up, Yondu ignores him. 

“You got one more chance, boy,” he snarls, “Next time you fail, gonna gut you and hang your corpse from the bow for letting my men die. Maybe you’ll do a better job as my lil’ warning decoration than my first mate.”


	6. Chapter 6

Yondu strips his shirt, kicks his boots loose. His toes flex against the roughly pebbled floor and he stretches down long, lets his muscles go slack. His breathing slows as he slides into the next stretch, and yes. This is what he needs. 

It’s been hours since the last of the immediate post-debacle problems had been dealt with, and still the adrenaline won’t leave him. Oblo was settled, if bitterly unhappy about being sternly warned to not leave his bay. The mess had turned out its usual grey sludge, and Yondu mechanically gulping down his bowl alone. 

It’d been entertaining making the minutes pass by terrorizing the bridge watch, but after the first half hour the poor Krylorian had looked about ready to piss himself. 

While that wouldn’t have detracted from the entertainment, it would have meant that as the only other senior person up Yondu would have had to find someone to relieve him while he cleaned up his mess – and Yondu just didn’t have the energy to go hunt down and haul the next watch out of their rack. 

He’s low on huffer-sticks, only a few of the ones he was saving for celebration left.The soaps on his holopad buzz and whine, and he can’t bring himself to focus on them. 

So katas it is. 

It had been Stakar, who’d shown him the carefully choreographed set of movements. The Kree had preferred more brutally hands-on methods of training, nothing like the methodical grace of solo forms. 

When Stakar had found him beating his latest wrestling partner nearly to a pulp, he sternly laid down a temporary embargo on such activities and walked him through his first katas. 

There’s something comforting about running through them, even now. The gym is quiet, the room bathed in eerie red. They’re passing near enough to occupied space that Yondu had ordered the ship to go stealth until the next day cycle had passed – which meant red light was all he’d have tonight. 

The first kata flows easy into the second, and the second into the third. He speeds up on the fourth, kicks and strikes and flips. When he lands panting from the final move, he’s startled by the slow sound of clapping from the corner of the room. 

Yondu snarls, starts to purse his lips so he can appropriately threaten the unwelcome intruder, but then the silhouette steps forward. 

Kraglin. 

His eyes snap greedy electric blue from the shadows, coiled like he’s can already feel Yondu’s throat between his teeth. There’s something wilder, rougher, in the way he moves, like he’s not even trying to hide.

Yondu stares back warily. 

“You look real good, doing that,” Kraglin husks, stalks closer. Yondu squares his shoulders and refuses to back away. 

“The fuck are you doing here at this time of night,” he raises his lip to flash an eyetooth in threat. His implant lights, and he can feel his arrow shudder to life from its sheath on the floor. “Decided to move on from knocking off crew t’knocking off the captain, now you figure your ploy ain’t working?”

“Told you,” Kraglin’s an arm away, but he doesn’t stop crowding closer. “Don’t want you dead. Just want you.”

He’s a breath away now, staring down. His eyes… 

Yondu’s knees wobble, and he locks them viciously. “Ain’t answered my question.”

“Couldn’t sleep, needed to move,” Kraglin cocks his head lazily. “Was gonna work out punching the bag, but watching you I gotta better idea.”

“Gonna share?” Yondu raises his chin, swallows wetly. His pulse is speeding, rushing in his ears and he forces his breath slow and even.

“Could fight, “ Kraglin’s tongue catches hard on the _t_ , and the way he says it it’s like he’s saying another word entirely.“Solve both our problems… unless you’re not up for it.”

He lifts an eyebrow, smirks, and Yondu never was able to turn his back on a challenge. 

“Hope you’re a graceful loser, _rookie,_ ” Yondu says and lets his stance widen, body easing into threat. Doesn’t matter that Kraglin doesn’t really qualify for that nickname anymore, leading a department like he is, first blood in battle under his belt. He ain’t getting called by his name until he earns it.

“I would say the same, but I know you never are ” Kraglin smirks, braces himself as Yondu snarls and slams forward into him.

Kraglin’s fast, damn fast, but Yondu probably has a good sixty pounds and almost ten years on him. Kree had taught him how to play dirty to survive, with life as a Ravager not doing a thing do dissuade that, so a few minutes in and Yondu already knows he’s gonna win. 

“Ready to call it quits before I beat your ass into the ground,” Yondu taunts as he locks his legs around Kraglin. “Had a good go and all, but I think we both know who’s coming out on top.”

Kraglin snarls into his side, says “Gonna–“ and then suddenly he quiets. 

Yondu waits a suspicious beat, says, “That sulking mean you giving up?” but then Kraglin’s mouth latches onto the pierced tip of Yondu’s ear, worrying sharp teeth on the sensitive point. 

_Fuck._ Shivers wave down his skin. He shudders, going slack with shock. Kraglin lets go of him, breaths hot agains damp patch, “What was that you said about being on top?” 

Kraglin starts to eel sideways, starting to flip so he can pin Yondu on his belly. 

“Oh, hells no,” Yondu grunts out, lets his body move to counter the move on autopilot. But just as he starts to get Kraglin in a lock again Kraglin mouths gently at the side of Yondu’s throat, letting his teeth press just enough in Yondu can feel the promise in it. 

Yondu claws grim into his control, doesn’t let his head fall back. Kraglin may be playing this dirty, but it doesn’t matter. Yondu can play dirty too. If he can just get Kraglin pinned, get to say uncle then Yondu can hustle back to his quarters to gather himself and–

Damnit. Kraglin's taken full advantage of Yondu’s pause, manages to eel around him just the right way and Yondu’s pinned belly down. His arm is joint-locked behind him, all of Kraglin’s whip-wire body molded to him. 

For a beat, neither moves, the heavy sound of their breathing echoing off the metal walls. 

“Yield?” Kraglin growls against his ear. His voice seems like it’s dropped practically an octave, into that growl that makes Yondu’s chest go all strange.

“Thas’ dirty game, I don’t yield,” Yondu blusters, face mashed painfully against the ribbed rubber mat. Kraglin snarls, presses him down harder and _fuck._ Kragin’s hard, only thin stretch-cotton between them, every inch of him burning hot on Yondu’s skin. 

“ _Yield_.”

It would be so easy. 

“Won’t,” Yondu digs his nails in, buries his face against the ground as he lets himself arch back. “Gonna make me?”

Kraglin tenses, quivering tight as a bowstring as he grinds forward hard, nips sharper at the point of Yondu’s ear.

“You need that? Need me to make you take it?” he husks, squeezes down and then relaxes his grip.“Not gonna.” 

Wait, no, that’s not what’s supposed to happen here. Yondu whines before he can stop himself but Kraglin isn’t letting him go. He slides his hands lightly, teasingly down Yondu’s arms, takes each of Yondu’s hands in one of his.

Yondu blinks, confused but then Kraglin’s moving them above his head, stretching them out like supplication. He presses them down against the floor, breathes dark and hot, “Sweetheart, gonna make you _beg_ me for it. _”_

_Oh._

Yondu opens his mouth, and he needs to say something. He’s Yondu Udonta and he doesn’t _beg_ but Kraglin wedges his knees between Yondu’s, spreading him open and pulling Yondu’s pants down his hips.

Wait. There’s something before– Yondu needs to – 

His eyes fly open and he tenses but Kraglin’s already stilling. The silences hovers, breathless. Then there’s hands on Yondu’s hips and Kraglin abruptly knocks his knees wider. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he spits, and he’s prying Yondu wide, baring every inch of Yondu’s cunt. It’s a tight little thing, vestigial far as Yondu knows. Doesn’t stop it from dripping, needing, as Kraglin drags his thumb across it. “Lookit you.”

Yondu’s cheeks are hot, and Kraglin’s eyes stroke greedy across his skin.

“Hiding this from me, hiding a pretty little cunt between your thighs,” Kraglin circles his hole roughly, smearing slick between his fingers.

“N-not hiding nothing,” Yondu can’t think, can barely string words together, dizzy enough to float away.

“No you’re not, not gonna let you,” Kraglin presses a finger gently, right at the core of him, then slides it sharp inside. He’s rubbing and twisting, feeling Yondu like he’s learning him and Yondu has had things inside him alone in the dark but no one’s ever…

“ _Supremor tak_ , you’re tight,” Kraglin growls, prods a second finger, fucks that one in too. “Know how bad I wanna get my cock inside you? It’d feel so good, wouldn’t it.”

His fingers squelch every time he buries them deep, grinds hard into all the tender, giving places. Sweet, hot shame flushes Yondu’s face but it’s transient as smoke, and he can’t care about anything except how good it feels to get fucked.

“How’s long it been, sweetheart, how long since you had someone filling you like you need?” Kraglin mouths wicked just beside his fingers, and Yondu sobs out, “Not– haven’t–“ before he can think about it. 

Kraglin’s fingers freeze, head coming up. Yondu tenses. Maybe he shouldn’t have said– _shit._ Kraglin stabs in deep, holds his fingers there. His hair flops forward to itch at Yondu’s bare skin as he digs his forehead into Yondu’s lower back. 

Teeth scrape across him, scores bright lines of pain into his skin. Kraglin pulls his hand back enough he can push a third finger in too, and it’s so much and Yondu needs. 

“ _Mine,”_ Kraglin hisses, “gonna be _mine_.” 

Yondu shouldn’t want that, it shouldn’t make every reason, every protestation, crumbles like wet clay to the want in his head. 

“Don’t care if you buy bots on dead-end nothing planets, fuck them like that’s really what gets you off,” Kraglin hooks his fingers into Yondu’s guts, grabs his hip and pulls him back into it when Yondu weakly tries to squirm away. “You're only ever gonna fall apart 'cause of me, 'cause it's me that's touching you, and you're _mine_.”

“Not yours,” Yondu ekes out weakly through the fog, because he isn’t. Kraglin might not be trying to fuck his way to the top after all, but that don’t mean Yondu actually trusts him. Just ‘cause he hasn’t tried to kill Yondu or mutiny on him yet.

Kraglin slows, spreading his fingers apart and then sliding them in as deep as he can go.

“I know,” there’s a hot sighing exhale against Yondu's skin, and then Kraglin’s mouth quirks up sharp and unhappy. “Not gonna do this until you are.”

He pauses, pulls his fingers completely out. Yondu keens unhappily, and wait, no. That’s not what he wanted. What kind of nonsense is this? Clearly Kraglin needs to be told just what exactly Yondu thinks about him getting Yondu all worked up and then just _stopping_ for no real reason at all. 

“But I need, just this,” Kraglin mutters low, desperate and tighter than a spring. He nips right at the tender crease of Yondu’s thigh, says “For now, just need…”

He blows cool air across Yondu’s skin, tracing down his crack, over his hole and _oh_. Yondu shivers, shivers again and what the hell is he doing? That’s Kraglin’s tongue, right against the dripping heat of him.

Yondu wails into the floor, writhing and clawing at the mat. He can’t think, he can’t breath, it’s so good, and he needs Kraglin to never stop. 

“Gorgeous,” Kraglin roughs out, digs his fingers into Yondu’s thighs and his tongue into Yondu’s hole. Traces teasingly around the rim, up to flicks at Yondu’s clit, licks broad right up the center, tongues delicately between his folds and it’s too much, it’s too much. 

Yondu arches and his back aches with it but he can’t stop, he’s so close, he needs more, just a little more–

There’s suddenly cold, and nothing. Yondu’s eyes fly open and that _stars damn son of an inbred f’saki_ has stopped. He’s stopped and he’s letting go of Yondu, he’s pulling away and not touching him and no, no, no, _no._

“Y’bastard, th’fuck,” Yondu lets his hips raise weakly, and thump back desolate on the mat. His hands flex and he squirms, rubs his thighs together desperate and needing. 

“Said it,” Kraglin tenderly pulls Yondu’s pants back up his hips, dodges the half-hearted donkey kick aimed at his face. 

Yondu twists, curls unhappily on his side, blinks blearily up. He’s trembling, and his brain is blank and he doesn’t understand. 

“Don’t wanna see you looking at me like I’m waiting to put a knife in your back,” Kraglin reaches out, cups his face, “Y’don’t want me yet like I want you.”

He pushes himself to his feet, stares down. His hands clench in blanch-knuckled fists, but he banks whatever burns behind his eyes, lets the fire dim.

“Ain’t gonna touch you again until you do.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes this does need an edit i got distracted by my lovely new guitar, i'll edit it tomorrow

Yondu shifts, skin rubbing against the brush of fur blankets. He shifts lower, flips onto his stomach, strangles tighter on his pillow. Sleep won’t come, all the muscles unwound by katas winched tight again.

_Mine. Gonna be mine._

He’s still wet, he can feel it, like his body hasn’t quite got that it’s not getting one more motherfucking thing tonight. Kraglin’s fingers still echo inside him, every time he moves. 

His cock would be bigger. 

Kraglin would probably have to tease Yondu open, work it in slow and–

No. Yondu’s not doing this. 

He curls onto his side, buries his face into his pillow. He can’t let Kraglin take any more liberties than he’s gotten away with already. Who knows, next time they’re on the bridge and Yondu gives an order Kraglin disagrees with…

No. Don’t matter that Yondu can still feel Kraglin pressing him down every time he rolls on his belly.

Don't matter at all.

 

Morning comes sullen, and Yondu drags himself from his cabin barely twenty minutes before he needs to be on the bridge. 

Lovely. Tasteless grey nutrisludge. Better move the _Eclector’s_ next replenishment stock up a little, if they were already churning out this slop.

Retch glares at him, from the other side of the mess. He’s talking with some hulking wrinkled magenta lump of a man, clearly airing his woes to whoever will listen. Nevermind he brought every damn threat down on himself. Retch is lucky Yondu hasn’t already had him forcibly replaced. If this was Stakar’s crew…

But Stakar had never had this problem. Stakar had always had Aleta and Charlie and the others.

It don’t matter. Yondu can handle this.

“Cap’n,” Tullks jovial voice booms over Yondu’s shoulder and he twists. Tullk settles himself on the bench a respectful distance away, starts shoveling in his chow. He follows Yondu’s gaze, nose wrinkling up. 

“You found a replacement for him yet?”

Yondu eyes him narrowly. “Didn’t say nothing about replacing nobody.” 

“Anyone with a pair of eyes c’n see he can’t do his job for shit,” Tullk snorts, rolls his eyes. Yondu hooks fang over his lip. That’s worrying, it’s to the point where the other crew’s fed up with Retch.

“An’ you think there’s anyone else we got that could replace him?” 

Tullk chews meditatively, swallows. 

“Obfonteri.”

Yondu pauses, then forces himself to keep chewing. Bastard. Popping up everywhere like a bad unit chip. 

Tullk seems to take Yondu’s silence as a request to continue, and he says between bites, “You know he’s got the Nav department running like a well-oiled M-ship.” 

Yondu hums, shifts his legs further apart. Tullk raises an eyebrow, adds, “He’s quiet, but they listen to him.” 

“Don’t mean he’s ready to be a first.” 

Just because the crew like him, and he can run herd on a few of them. 

“Just saying cap’n,’Tullk grins, slurps down the last bit of his bowl. It flecks his chin and he swipes a hand roughly then pushes to his feet. “If you don’t think he’s ready yet, make him your second. See how he does.”

Huh. Yondu did need a second. All the trouble with his first had pushed it to the back of his mind, but now that Tullk mentions it…

“Be in the magazine if you need me, sir.”

Yondu nods jerkily, doesn’t look up. He pokes the last of his chow with his spoon. The last thing he wants right now is to eat, but makes himself finish the last of it. 

Yondu’s got supply records to look over. He’s gonna need the energy.

 

“Got something t’say for yourself?” 

Yondu stares dispassionately at the quivering blob of former quartermaster, twirls his arrow idly through this fingers. There hadn’t been many high hopes for Iop, really, but he did think he would have managed to stop lazing around long enough to have his underlings arrange supplies so that waste got airlocked instead of nourishments. 

Iop’s eyes flare white and he shudders, and lunges hands balled for Yondu in desperation. The crew tenses forward, but before Iop can get within range Yondu whistles high and clear. 

His arrow’s spun neatly through the unfortunate former quartermaster’s forehead before he can get within a foot. 

Yondu cocks his head, watches as Iop collapses. 

“Anyone else feel like lazing ‘round on the job? Tell me now, and I’ll demote you before my arrow does it the hard way.”

Yondu’s tried, letting the crew come to him with their mistakes. There’s a line though, especially with his goddamn officers. ’S gotta be growing pains, all this. If crew is always this much trouble, Yondu doesn’t see how captain’s last more than a couple years. 

Fine. Guess it’s time for a change in leadership. Who was it that was this spacehead’s second? 

“Horuz,” Yondu clenches his arrow, jerks his head to beckon the skittish Ravager closer. “Looks like you’re m’new quartermaster.”

Horuz’s jaw works, but he doesn’t do a thing except give a clumsy salute. Yondu lets his eyetooth hook over his lip in silent warning, salutes back. 

Hopefully this one will be halfway competent.

That business taken care of Yondu waves a hand irritably, grumbles, “Right, get this off my bridge ’n keep us on course.”

He settles himself in his chair. It’s polished steel, smooth and stark and solid. An intimidating sort of chair. Horribly uncomfortable though. Yondu shifts, shifts again. Maybe it’s time to invest in some appropriately intimidating looking cushions. 

Kraglin’s watching him. Feels like Kraglin’s always watching, eyes burning into his skin no matter where Yondu stands. 

_Look awful good, swaggering ‘round the bridge, whistling that arrow through anyone that challenge’s you, and looking like nothing c’n touch you. Makes me want to_

Kraglin’s words ghost through his head, and Yondu shivers minutely. Even when he isn’t talking, the fucking bastard won’t leave his head and he’s not thinking about this, he _refuses._

So quartermaster’s sorted. Time to sort out a second. 

Retch has finally arrived on the bridge, skulks over to Yondu with a sloppy salute.

Well. Since he’s here.

Yondu pushes up in his chair, says, “ ‘Fore you get started, tou got someone in mind, would be a good second mate?” 

Not that Yondu holds out much hope he’ll offer a suitable suggestion. Retch squints, gaze darting around the bridge. He doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, but he grudges out, “Taserface. Ain’t nobody messing with him.”

Yondu blinks.

What the hell kinda stupid name is that? 

“Don’t remember putting a Taserface in charge of anything.” 

Retch huffs. “He ain’t. He’s a gunner.” 

Right. That sounds like a great idea. Steal one of Tullk’s underlings so he can have another crew in charge that don’t know what he’s dong. 

Yondu shakes his head, scowls. “If that’s the best you got, I’m gonna have to find someone myself.” 

That doesn’t go over well, Retch’s face scrunching angrily, glaring down. Yondu locks eyes, doesn’t budge. When the man starts making good suggestions, Yondu’ll start listening. 

He needs someone though. Especially considering Yondu doesn’t have high hopes for Retch’s longevity. Crew needs a solid chain of command. He’s let this go long enough. 

Yondu scans the bridge crew. Oblo’s only just back on his feet, and that boy couldn’t intimidate a salamander. Tullk will only take it if Yondu forces the issue. 

Gef? Yondu shudders. Definitely not. Before he can let himself think on it, Yondu snaps, “Obfonteri.” 

Maybe Tullk was right. Yondu could certainly do worse and maybe someday…

Kraglin’s head snaps to Yondu, and he stalks over. He stands in front of him with his hands clasped respectfully behind his back and something that’s anything but respectful simmering in his eyes. 

“Cap’n?” 

Yondu swallows, licks his lips. 

“Need a second mate. Looks like you got the job.” 

He swivels his chair away, doesn’t wait to see how Kraglin takes the unexpected promotion.

Heat burns as Kraglin leans in, so close, but not touching. He hovers for a breath, shadowed over Yondu, then says soft and low as he beats his chest, “Yessir.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retch hands him his morning cup of brew, and Yondu takes it with a distracted grunt. Huh. Looks the man’s finally making an effort. Only took him a month.   
> There’s been jobs, and jobs, since that chaotic disaster of a one. Each one easier to find as the Eclector’s name is whispered with knowing nods instead of blank confusion. Each one smoother, all the kinks and bumps starting to even. Retch isn’t getting any more popular with the crew but Kraglin… every morning Yondu shows up on the bridge there’s fewer fires to put out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEVERMIND I LIED the last chapter grew into a monster with an epilogue so i decided to split it. oops?

 

 

Retch hands him his morning cup of brew, and Yondu takes it with a distracted grunt. Huh. Looks the man’s finally making an effort. Only took him a month. 

There’s been jobs, and jobs, since that chaotic disaster of a one. Each one easier to find as the _Eclector’s_ name is whispered with knowing nods instead of blank confusion. Each one smoother, all the kinks and bumps starting to even. Retch isn’t getting any more popular with the crew but Kraglin… every morning Yondu shows up on the bridge there’s fewer fires to put out. 

They’re almost to port again, only a few more jumps. Good thing too. The _Eclector_ ain’t just low on supplies right now, she’s low on crew.

The numbers are refusing to make sense in front of him, and he squints, tilts the pad like maybe it would help. That can’t be right. 

Is Kraglin’s on the bridge yet? Yondu scans, sees him standing over the shoulder of one of the newer additions to the nav crew. He’s pointing something out, and when the rookie nods gives her a gentle clap on the back. 

“Obfonteri,” Yondu swirls the brew in his cup, tries to dissolve the stubborn bits still floating at the top. “Here, fix this.” 

Kraglin’s head comes up and as he starts towards him, Yondu shoves the pad out in Kraglin’s general direction. Ugh. This brew smells like death, but it’s definitely required if he’s going to spend the morning working numbers with Kraglin hovering all wiry and intent over his shoulders. 

A step away Kraglin freezes, hand stilling before he can take the pad.

“Sir wait, _no,”_ as the cup touches his lips it’s knocked from Yondu’s hands, Kraglin's face in front of him even whiter than usual. 

“What the hell…?” Yondu starts to scowl, but then stops, flicks his tongue out to taste the drop that had landed on his lips and–

Fuck.

Laudflower. 

There was no disguising the taste. Not that you had to, when more than a teaspoon meant it was too late to do anything about it. 

Kraglin searches his face, seems to satisfy himself that Yondu’s alright. Yondu swallows. He almost wasn’t. If it wasn’t for whatever freaky sense Kraglin had–

Wait.

“Retch,” Yondu shoves himself to his feet, eyes narrowing dark and lines in his implant glowing carmine. Looks like the fucker was making an effort to do something alright. 

In one fluid motion Kraglin’s turning, knife dropping from his sleeve into his hand with a flick. Between one moment and the next he’s wrapped dark and fluid around Retch, faster than a Cortilian spider, one knife to his gut and one to his neck. 

It’s almost beautiful, the death in Kraglin’s eyes. 

But this ain’t his kill.

“Obfonteri, stop,” Yondu barks, and Kraglin’s almost vibrating with the tip of his knife to the man’s juglar. 

But he stills his hands, and stops. Kraglin’s blade is a breath away from slitting skin, and he stops. 

His chest expands as he sucks in a breath, holds it, then lets it out with a low, “Cap’n?”

Yondu set his pad down measuredly. Should have expected things to come to a head sooner rather than later, really. There’s been rumblings, more and more, never enough to act but – new captain, new faction, new chance to unseat a green leader and wield the reputation of the Ravager name.

Means it’s time to make an particularly pointed example.

Retch starts to relax, seeming confident that Yondu will listen. Well. More fool him. Yondu shifts his feet wide, flips his coat open and flicks his arrow into the air. 

The watching crew don’t make a sound.

“Obfonteri,” Yondu bares his teeth jovially, “hold him still for me.”

“Sir,” Kraglin blinks, then his lips curl up as he holds Retch pinned in place. Yondu whistles, low and haunting, lets his arrow twist lazily forward until it spins against Retch’s forehead. He’s begging and pleading now, trying to twist out of Kraglin’s grip, but Kraglin doesn’t move. Slowly, sweetly, Yondu send his arrow forward, burrowing itself a neat new home. 

There’s no blood. It’s hot enough to cauterize, but from from the way he’s screaming, it does nothing to dull the pain. The bridge crew stands frozen, barely breathing as the arrow finally twists it way through and out the other side. Kraglin tilts his head coldly, lets the body drop.

“Well then,” Yondu rubs his hands together cheerfully. “Guess I’m in need of a new first mate.” 

And something’s settling in his chest, the last tumbler lined up in a picked lock, the last coordinate keyed in, like everything was always leading here. Yondu saunters forward, reaches over the corpse to clap Kraglin’s shoulder.

“Looks like you’ve got the job, Obfonteri.” 

Kraglin straightens, every whip-thin, deadly inch of him, bangs his chest twice. His eyes are burning, and just like the first time every inch of Yondu ripples electric. 

“Yes _sir._ Cap’n.”

“You,” Yondu can’t look away, jabs a finger blindly towards the crowd, “clean up this mess, don’t need anyone tripping over trash.” 

 

The rest of his shift is quiet. The crew studiously avoids Yondu, tapping fingers jittery in his chair and scanning through his holopad but not really seeing it.Kraglin’s eyes are on him, burning into the back of his neck. Yondu doesn’t look up. 

The image paints itself on his mind in thick impasto, the way Kraglin had moved fluid and deadly, the sight of him with teeth bared, ready to kill for Yondu. The way he quivered, waiting on Yondu’s orders, not moving, the look on his face as Yondu whistled the mutineer through… Yondu shifts, adjusts the front of his leathers. 

You know, he never had showed Kraglin those numbers. 

Yondu pushes himself to his feet, saunters casually over to him. He’s perusing the master navboard, not even trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring at Yondu a moment ago. 

“Got something, want you t’take a look at,” Yondu doesn’t stop when he gets to Kraglin, squeezes in front of him and starts tapping at the board. He mechanically switches the screen to the accounts, ignoring how Kraglin’s body snaps into tension against his own. 

When the number sputter into life Yondu squints at the screen and then steps back, sliding his body against Kraglin’s as he moves to the side. 

“Gonna move over a lil, Obfonteri?” Yondu lets his eyes flick to the side, hooks a fang over his lip and worries gently at it. Out of the corner of his eye, Kraglin’s hands flex, squeeze tight into fists. “Sir…”

“These numbers look off to you?” Yondu spreads his fingers, zooms in on the screen. He doesn’t even remember which set of number he pulled up thirty seconds ago, but well. Maybe that ain’t the point of this.

“They,” Kraglin inhales slow, “those the numbers from the last job?”

Yondu hums noncommittally. This is actually rather entertaining, really, giving Kraglin a taste of his own medicine. It’s only what he deserves, after all. All the nights, twisting and turning as phantom fingers, phantom weight, ghosts over his skin. All those nights drifting off with Kraglin’s words husking and teasing in his ears.

He glances down at his pad, squints at it thoughtfully, then lets it slip through his fingers. 

“Oops.” Yondu grins unapologetically up at Kraglin, sees his eyes flare dark. Bends over slow to swipe it off the deck, straightens slowly back up. It isn’t cracked, thanks to the shatterproof covers that come standard with Ravager-used tech. 

“Here,” he hands it to Kraglin who takes it stiffly, eyes not leaving Yondu. “And would'ya lookit that. Think night crew’ll be coming on soon. You’re first mate now, I’ll let you turn over with them.” 

Yondu smirks, gives Kraglin’s chest a lingering pat. Night shift will trickle on in fifteen minutes or so. Kraglin’ll have something to stew on while he waits.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu swipes the biolock on his room, strides straight to his haphazardly cluttered table. It’s crammed between the head of Yondu’s bed and the wall, all clusters of half-empty bottles and half-closed drawers dripping oddities. The mealbar he’d swiped from the mess churns and roils in his stomach as his skin skitters, chest tight like the breath before the falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos, and sticking it out 'til the end <3

Yondu swipes the biolock on his room, strides straight to his haphazardly cluttered table. It’s crammed between the head of Yondu’s bed and the wall, all clusters of half-empty bottles and half-closed drawers dripping oddities. The mealbar he’d swiped from the mess churns and roils in his stomach as his skin skitters, chest tight like the breath before the falling.

Trinkets tumble clattering onto the floor as Yondu fumbles between them, grabs the neck of the closet bottle of liquor. He unscrews the cap with two fingers, reaches down with his other hand to gently replace the fallen tchotchkes.

Why is it so hot in here? The top finally comes loose and Yondu flicks it off, guzzles desperately at it. Liquor burns sweet down his throat and he breathes, swigs again. Maybe it’s time for a huffer stick, one of them soothing clove ones. Thank the stars he has the next day cycle off.

Kraglin’s probably turned over shift by now.

Maybe Yondu should comm, make sure nothing came up. Or swing by his cabin. Comms act up on occasion, after all. It was Kraglin’s first turnover as first mate. And if Yondu just happened to forget his shirt well… these things happen. He has a lot on his mind after all.

His jacket strangles around his chest. Yondu shoves the bottle on the table, wrestles the buckles open open he can shrug it down his shoulders. His undershirt is sweaty, damp, clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

The door whispers open behind him.

Fuck. Yondu hadn’t locked it. He turns, mouth opening on rote to bark at whoever has dared barge into his quarters like this.

Except… he knows who this is. The only person it could be.

Kraglin’s silhouetted dark by the light of the corridor, all the lean, jagged edges of him. His head tilts down, and his eyes gleam.

“Cap’n.”

Yondu swallows wetly.

“Kraglin.”

Kraglin sucks a breath in sharply, steps inside. The door slides shut behind him, and he reaches for the panel without looking, flips the switch to lock it.

The air’s so thick, Yondu could choke on it.

Kraglin stalks closer fluid and intent, stops a hand away. He stares down at Yondu, like he wants to bury his teeth in Yondu’s skin and never pull them out.

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

Yondu bites his upper lip, scowls. “’S the first time you’ve earned it.”

“Earned it, huh?”

“You're my first. An' seems you might not be waiting to put a knife in my back neither, or let someone else do it for you.”

Because he could have - it would have been so easy. Let Retch take Yondu out, kill Retch for doing it, assume captaincy. And he didn't. 

Kraglin leans his body closer, pressing Yondu back until the table edge digs blunt into him.

“That's what all that on the bridge was, then?”

Yondu’s pulse flutters in his throat and he grins brightly, stares Kraglin dead in the eye.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kraglin raises an eyebrow and y’know, suddenly Yondu thinks he might be feeling a little thirsty again. Grabbing for the bottle he tips it up, wraps his lips around it, flooding his mouth with liquor burn. His throat works as he swallows it down slow.

The bottle drops, dangles lax in his fingers. Yondu lets his muscles loosen, lounges himself back against the table, legs splaying open as he shifts his feet wider. Grins wider.

Kraglin stills.

Then Yondu’s wrenched sideways, a wiry body colliding with his back, knocking the breath out of him and slamming him forward over the bed.

Yondu shudders, goes slack. Kraglin'sarm worms its way under Yondu, hooks him close, hips rutting forward like he’s already rooted deep.

“Wasn’t gonna do this, was gonna let you come to me,” Kraglin snarls in his ear, something desperate in his voice “Then you made me watch you send that arrow so sweet through that traitor’s head, baring your teeth all fierce at me.”

Yondu mewls into his furs, back arching mindlessly into Kraglin’s hold and yes.

_ Yes. _

“Wanted you so bad, strutting around and rubbing all up on me, making me spend the rest of my shift hard and aching for you, fucking tease.”

Kraglin keeps Yondu hooked tight, working Yondu’s pants down with one hand until he can grind forward against where Yondu is wet and aching.

“Gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, fill your belly full of me until you can’t remember what you feel like empty.”

Stars, yes, Yondu needs that, needs Kraglin’s hands and his cock and his voice crooning filth into Yondu’s ear. He rubs himself into the bed, and he’s so hard he hurts.

“Yeah, c’mon,” he slurs, face mashed painfully into his furs, “what’re y’waitin’ for? Gonna show me you ain't all talk?”

Kraglin snarls, hands convulsing against Yondu’s skin. He fits his teeth over Yondu’s neck, worries Yondu’s skin dark. Marking him.

“You want that? Want me t’show you?”

Yondu grinds back against smooth leather, smearing it dark with his slick. “Want you t’stop your damn teasing and fuck me.”

“Thassit, beg me for it,” Kraglin hums, dark and satisfied, “gonna be so good for me, aren’t you sweetheart, so good.”

And that shouldn’t make something shoot headier than golddust up Yondu’s spine, but it does – fuck it does, and Yondu mewls high and thready before he can stop himself.

“Yeah,” Kraglin croons, “you like hearing that?”

His hand slides tenderly down Yondu’s side, across his hip, along the sensitive crease of his thigh to press gently over his hole.

That’s what Yondu wants, right there. He tries to push up, get Kraglin inside him but Kraglin just drops his weight forward and doesn’t budge.

“Be good an' tell me where you want me.”

The evil bastard. Yondu writhes, frustrated and needing.

“C’mon, sweetheart, tell me,” Kraglin traces his rim, gently, teasingly, moves down to nudge at his clit and then down again. it’s not enough, not nearly enough, and Yondu sobs out, “More, inside me, y’bastard c’m-on.”

His fingers yank desperate at the fur, and he arches up until his back aches. 

“There y’go,” Kraglin slides a finger in, and _oh_. Yes. Yondu clenches down on it, trembling.

“Need this so bad, don’t you, been waiting so long t’get fucked,” Kraglin hums.

“Please,” Yondu squirms himself back onto Kraglin’s finger, and he has, so long.

“Gonna eat you out first though,” Kraglin pulls his finger out slowly, wipes it on Yondu’s leg. “Haven’t stop thinking about it.”

He edges Yondu’s legs further apart, kneads at his cheeks, pulling them apart.

“Y’know that night, after you left? I got myself off to the taste of your sweet little cunt in my mouth.”

Kraglin’s knees hit the ground with a thump, and then lips press soft at the crease of Yondu’s thighs. His thumbs drag slowly over sensitive inner thighs, massaging gently.

Yondu forces his legs wider, trembling. Everything is achingly sensitive, bright bursts of shivery pleasure everywhere Kraglin touches.

“Want to pull you into closest and shove your pants down, suck your cock until you’re biting your fist to keep from screaming,” Kraglin rasps, tongues lightly at dip of Yondu’s hips, traces in around his lips. His hands slide up to grab Yondu’s hips, squeezingdown, kneading at his chunk, pulling him to meet Kraglin’s mouth.

He circles the rim of Yondu’s hole over and over until Yondu’s shuddering back into him, fucks his tongue in, eating at him sloppy. It’s even better than the last time, it’s perfect, and Kraglin needs to never stop.

Of course then that  _asshole_  pulls away, with a last reverent kiss to keep talking.

“Then I want you over me, thighs trembling and barely able to hold yourself up and I want you like this, bent over, dripping slick down your thighs and begging me for more.”

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Yondu whines. Kraglin chuckles darkly, the bastard.

“Mmm, patience,” he laves his tongue slowly up Yondu’s cunt, hums against him. “Fuck, you taste so good– here, wait.”

Damnit, Kraglin was pulling away again but then he shoves at Yondu, pushing him further onto the bed.

“This is gonna be better, just–“ Kraglin presses Yondu’s shoulders down, pulls his hips up. Yondu blinks, but then Kraglin’s on his back now, head pushing back between Yondu’s thighs.

Kraglin’s hands grab his waist, slide down to knead at his ass. He traces two finger down Yondu’s crack, rests them right over his hole, and when Yondu pushes back desperately he slips them inside. He fucks them in shallowly, mouths at Yondu’s clit, then hooks his fingers up and tugs Yondu open.

Shit, he feels so full, it's only two fingers, how does he feel so full?

Kraglin’s flicking at his clit now, fast and steady, tugging down and rubbing just right with his fingers. He works his other hand under Yondu, squeezes clumsily at his dick and Yondu slurs out, “Yes, there, there, Krags–“  and he’s coming, clenching around Kraglin’s fingers, rutting his hips into Kraglin’s face, smearing him wet. Finally, _finally_ , Yondu’s coming, shaking, as it rushes through him heady and perfect.

Before he can catch his breath Kraglin pulls his fingers out, grinning against Yondu’s skin when he shudders and whines. 

His buckles clink as he undoes them, the hush of leather sliding off. His clothes thump as they land carelessly on the floor and then Kraglin curls naked over Yondu’s flushed body, a wiry cage. He’s covered in hair, scratching and tickling at Yondu’s skin, cock nestling against where Yondu is soaked and oversensitive.

It’s so much, Yondu’s head spins as his hips shift back, forward and he can’t decide whether to pull away or press closer, but Kraglin doesn’t stop moving.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmers tenderly, kisses Yondu’s neck.

He adjusts, lines himself up, and then he’s pressing slowly, slowly in. It aches so good, Kraglin spreading him open, on and on and on, and Yondu’s hands claw and his eyes squeeze shut. It’s so much better than anything Yondu’s ever shoved inside himself, the way it drags against his insides, and Yondu whimpers, squirms.

“ _Fuck_ , you feel good,” Kraglin hooks his arms under Yondu’s shoulders pulls him back onto his cock. “That's it, gorgeous, c'mon.”

Kraglin’s weight is heavy on his back, over him and around him and filling him. He waits, until the tension roping Yondu’s muscles starts to ease and then he moves, working himself deeper with every stroke.

It’s everything Yondu never knew he needed, and he bites into the bedding, lets his body go limp in Kraglin’s grip.

Kraglin keeps fucking him like that, slow and deep into the core of him, reaching around to circle his clit like he has all the time in the world. Yondu's dick is only half hard, but he's gonna come again, he can feel it building, slower this time. It eases and rushes in like waves, nudging Yondu higher and higher. 

"You think of this, alone here all those nights?" Kraglin angles down, and he ruts down, grinding into him , "You get yourself off, work your little clit until you came thinking about fitting me inside you?"

Yondu lets his head roll to the side, pants out mindlessly, “Yes, Krags, _Krags._ ” 

Something in Kraglin snaps, and he starts jabbing in faster, muscles winching tense. He latches onto the meat of Yondu’s shoulder, ruts up hard once, twice, squeezing Yondu tight and– wait. Kraglin's coming.

Wait, no, no, Yondu was so close. Kraglin pants against his nape, hips still jabbing erratically. Damn him, Yondu was so _close_. His hands wring into the furs and he sobs, digs his face into the bed.

“Aw, what is it,” Kraglin murmurs breathless, nudges into his shoulder. “You need more?”

And Yondu tries to fight through the fog in his head but he can’t find words, babbles something incomprehensible and writhes in frustration.

That evil, terrible bastard just smiles, massages at Yondu’s hip. Clearly he needs some incentive to keep going. Yondu flails a hand weakly back, except Kraglin just catches his hand, weaves their fingers together and holds tight.

"C'mon, beg me for it, sweetheart."

Damn him. Yondu swallows, swallows again, ekes out, “Need t'come, _please_.”

And Kraglin relents, slides his hand around to work Yondu’s clit, drags his teeth over Yondu’s shoulder when he slumps and tilts his hips into it. 

“Thassit,” Kraglin breathes hot, works him faster.  "Come for me, sweetheart. Want you t’come on my cock.”

Yondu shivers, keens, fingers twisting into tight fists. It’s so good, he’s so close, and Kraglin’s rubbing just right at his clit, Yondu’s muscles are locking, back fixing tight in a bow and he’s so close–

and he breaks, gone, curling forward, clenching down hard on Kraglin.  He's making these desperate punched out little clicks and chirrs, but Kraglin only croons encouragements, cradles him through it.

When the world starts to trickle back in, Kraglin’s wiping him gently with a corner of the sheets, turning him on his side. He settles Yondu further onto the bed, snugs himself behind him. Skitters of pleasure still send little shocks up his spine, and it feels good, right, Kraglin at his back, curled around him.

He grabs for Kraglin’s arm, tugs at it demandingly until it's looped around his waist. Kraglin nuzzles into his neck, and holds him tight.

 

 

The cushions sit demurely on the command chair, when Yondu saunter stiff-legged and mellow onto the bridge. Morning shift is still arriving, mumbling sleepy salutes as they take their posts.

Huh. Yondu squints down at the pillows. Those definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. Well, he wasn’t going to go to all the trouble of moving them right now. Maybe he’d make Kraglin take them back whenever he showed up. Or after he’d made sure the crew hadn’t broken anything too vital during Yondu’s off-day.

Yondu settles into his chair, freezes, keeps his face carefully blank.

Y’know, actually, the cushions should definitely stay. He’s captain after all, he can do what he wants. He’ll just dare anyone on the bridge make a comment about them.

Just over him, the vents click, then chill air flows steadily out. It makes his nice new decoration clack, bone against bone against metal. Yondu eyes it happily.

Kraglin hadn’t offered where he’d learned to strip a body down to a skeleton and preserve the bones, and Yondu hadn’t asked. Came in awfully handy though. It had been a nice break, working on that yesterday between their other even more enjoyable activities. Kraglin must have been up early to mount it before shift. The lovingly crafted sculpture loom over the view screen, appropriately intimidating.

“Obfonteri,” Yondu swivels, pushes himself up straight. He scans the bridge until he finds his first, standing in his customary spot. “Got that replenishments list?”

“Yessir, lemme show you,” Kraglin taps something closed onto the navboard, ambles closer. His mohawk tufts up in abnormally perky fashion, and Yondu resists the urge to tweak at it. Kraglin’s really so ridiculously fluffy. Maybe later, he’ll let Yondu run his hands all through it.

Kraglin leans over the arm of Yondu’s chair, pressing his side against Yondu’s as he tilts the pad so Yondu can see.

Yondu slouches back, grins up at him.

“Getting a lil close, huh Obfonteri? Got a thing for getting all up in my personal space?”

Kraglin tilts his deferentially, the corner of his mouth just quirking up, a flicker of heat curling in his eyes. “Y’know sir, I think I might.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love <3


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